Trust
by otomriddle
Summary: Not conscientiously, not meaningfully. He simply was himself, and that was enough.


"What is your name?"

"I am Malfoy. And yours?"

"I am Tom. Tom Riddle. What a strange thing, to be named Malfoy."

"Well, of course my first name isn't Malfoy. It's Abraxas!"

"Just as bad."

"At least it's not a common muggle name."

"Muggle name?"

"Tom. Every muggle is called Tom. Very normal, nothing special."

"A name is nothing but a name. A rose, was it called otherwise, would still smell as good."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Tom."

"That's because you have no culture, Abraxas."

"Touché."

* * *

It was a surprise when Abraxas started walking with Tom in Hogwarts. The boy could tell most of his classmates thought Malfoy was doing it out of pity – and for a time even Tom himself believed so.

But that was until he heard Abraxas talking with a group of first years in one winter morning.

There had always been a kind of silent understanding between the two of them that Tom was the best speaker. When they had to do presentations, talk their way out of detentions, or simply convince a group of third years to get out of their favourite couch, it was Tom who did the talking. Who did the convincing. For that reason, the boy had always imagined his friend had no gift with words like he did.

But in that cold morning while Abraxas spoke – using both his mouth and hands –, Tom realized his mistake. Malfoy was just as gifted as he was, only in a different way.

When Riddle talked, people listened: there were no interruptions, no questions asked. People drank from his words, and accepted his wisdom.

When Abraxas talked, thought, people answered: there were warm smiles, gentle touches. People entered in the conversation, and liked it.

Watching his friend, Tom finally understood what the other had saw the first day they met – that they were alike, the same and yet not quite.

They completed each other.

Tom was glad.

He couldn't stand pity, anyway.

* * *

"Are you going to the Slug Club Ball with Druella? Didn't you find anything better, Tom?"

"It must be a surprise to you, dear friend, but she is a very agreeable company. And Dorea was already taken."

"For shame, for shame! The best man in Hogwarts being left aside for a Gryffindor, no less."

"Life is hard, Abraxas, even for gifted people like myself."

"And myself."

"And yourself, of course."

"Indeed? Do you really think I am also gifted?"

"Yes. Only not as much as I am."

* * *

Tom was very intelligent, no one could argue that. But even with his superior intellect, sometimes he couldn't quite understand his best friend's behaviour.

Abraxas had everything he could wish for – money, beauty, good name, good nature. And yet, more often than not he'd be depressed. The change was very subtle, hard for people who didn't know Abraxas completely to notice. Malfoy would smile and laugh and talk loudly just as nothing was amiss.

But Tom noticed.

At first, he tried to pay no mind. People had the right to be sad, even if their lives seemed perfect – and the boy had more important things to attend. However, quickly his friend's mood started to get to him. Those sad eyes, those low sighs, those unbearable silences. Soon enough, that was all Tom could think about.

If Abraxas was sad, he'd try and cheer him. If he was angry, he'd try and appease him. Tom Riddle's life was starting to revolve around someone else's happiness.

When he realized what he was turning into (when people started talking about what Slytherin's Golden Boy was turning into), Tom stopped.

Stopped cheering.

Stopped appeasing.

Stopped talking.

Stopped their friendship.

It was better that way. He didn't have time to lose with Abraxas Malfoy.

He had more important things to attend.

* * *

"You have been avoiding me."

"Yes, I have."

"Why, Tom? Have I done something wrong? Have I upset you?"

"Not really. You could say I got bored, I suppose."

"Bored? Of me? Why?"

"Sadness can be very annoying, Abraxas. I cannot stand it."

"So, because I am sad, you decided to brush me aside."

"Yes."

"That's very you."

* * *

Their time apart didn't last. Tom found it was hard to avoid someone when you both have the same classes, and same friends, and same dorms. And also harder to avoid someone who is Abraxas.

Tom tried to be mean, and indifferent, and a world of other things, but Malfoy showed resilience and endured everything Riddle threw at him. Eventually, there was nothing left to do but accept him back with a sigh and a shrug.

That was when the boy finally understood where the other's sadness came from.

A sour heart.

Tom was mildly – completely – surprised with the confession. He had always believed Abraxas told him everything, so to find his friend had kept such a great secret from him was unsettling.

He asked over and over again who had hurt Malfoy. And Malfoy, on his turned, refused to say anything else.

Tom tried to find out by other means who had been she that deceived his best friend, but no one knew about such a thing.

And the more he worried about Abraxas, the more curiosity ate him.

He needed revenge on that unnamed girl.

No one hurt Abraxas Malfoy but himself.

* * *

"Is it Alice?"

"No."

"Caroline?"

"No."

"Maybe Druella?"

"What? Of course not! I hate that girl."

"Why? She never did anything to you, did she?"

"No, I think not."

"Then why?"

"To someone so smart, you can be rather thick."

* * *

In an ironic turn of events, it was Tom himself who had broken Abraxas heart.

Not conscientiously, not meaningfully. He simply was himself, and that was enough.

Abraxas had always had this tendency to love too much, and keep too silent.

It was Avery who told Riddle about it. Apparently, his friend couldn't keep the secret any longer and decided to confine in someone else – only he chose poorly, and Lestrange broke Abraxas trust as soon as he could.

Tom had been torn between praising or torturing Avery for it. He decided to let the other go unharmed, however, more for his sake than anything else.

He needed to think.

As if summoned, Abraxas came not longer after the fact seeking for conversation. He seemed more relaxed somehow, more confident.

Tom, on the other hand, was shaking.

He had never been good with feelings, really.

Let alone his own.

* * *

"You must learn to choose better the people you trust."

"Why, I trust you, Tom. Are you trying to say something to me?"

"No. I am very reliable and trustworthy. I mean other people, other friends. You should take care about what you tell them."

"I do."

"Not enough."

"Well enough."

"Avery told me."

"I should've chosen better."


End file.
